


(Not Such a) Dead-End Job

by rosefox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coercion, It Pronouns, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-xeno, Regency, Sex Work, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox/pseuds/rosefox
Summary: James Darwick is a duke's bastard working in a coffee shop. His boss is a twelve-foot-long lizard monster. He thinks he's sunk as low as he can go.He's wrong.





	(Not Such a) Dead-End Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



"Oi, skinny boy."

James Darwick knew better than to hiss, but it took all his strength to keep his mouth shut. He left off polishing the counter and turned to see Big John Higgs, resplendent in the filthiest apron this side of the Thames. "Milord wants a word," Higgs said, grinning with all his remaining teeth. "In the back."

"Naturally," Darwick muttered. He dropped the rag in the bucket and tugged down his shirt-sleeves as he followed Higgs into the tiny kitchen. Higgs returned to rolling out pastry dough. Darwick dug his cuff links out of his waistcoat pocket, fastened his cuffs, straightened his posture, and went through the narrow door into the office.

Half the office was taken up by a heap of burlap sacks full of coffee beans, and on them lounged the coffee shop's owner, Glargh'l Sssplithl, a green-skinned entity some twelve feet long. Most of its tail was coiled under it like a spring; the tip twitched occasionally. Its only item of clothing was an enormous brown checked waistcoat that strained to cover the region between its forelegs. It sat with its torso upright like a man's, a position that splayed its hind legs and put its privates on horrifying display. Its oily stench mingled with the rich smell of coffee to unpleasant effect.

It was perusing an account-book, but put it down to consider Darwick with all six of its eye stalks. That was a bad sign. Sssplithl was most content when doing several things at once, and disliked anything requiring its full attention.

"Good afternoon, sir," Darwick said awkwardly, craning his neck to look up at it. He still wasn't sure of the correct forms of address, or indeed of Sssplithl's sex; he'd asked Higgs once, but that was like asking a stone how far to throw it. Sssplithl didn't seem to care.

 _Unfortunately not, Mr. Darwick,_ its voice said in Darwick's head. _I have received some complaints about your performance._

Darwick thought of protesting, but it was no good. The complaints were entirely reasonable. He was terrible at his job. He viewed wealthy bankers and businessmen as commoners jumped up above their station, and insulted them with his unconcealed disdain. Then he offended lords by presenting himself as their equal, though it was hardly evident from his worn clothing that he was a duke's by-blow. He brewed coffee badly, spilled it when he poured it, and guzzled more than he served. He also stole pastries at every opportunity; he'd been hungry so long that he couldn't stop himself, even now that he was working and had a little money for food.

Sssplithl could hear his thoughts, so it was useless to dissemble. "I'm not surprised," Darwick said glumly. "I thought anyone could do this job, but I appear to have been wrong."

 _Yes,_ Sssplithl said without inflection. _You are dismissed._

Darwick nodded, mind racing. His rent was due on the 15th. It was hard to imagine how he'd scrape up the funds for it. Perhaps one of the docks was looking for a laborer. Or perhaps... perhaps he could offer the landlady a tumble in lieu of rent, if she had a taste for hollow-eyed young men without much meat on their bones. He had thought he could sink no lower, but he had thought that many times before and been wrong every time. 

"Understood. Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to go. His jumbled thoughts merged into a vast wave of hopelessness. He felt a brief flash of familiar rage at his half-brother, who had turfed out Darwick and his mother before the duke was cold in the ground, but anger needed strength to sustain it, and he had no strength left. Perhaps he ought to do the world a favor and join the duke in hell.

_Wait, please._

Darwick turned around, puzzled. "Sir?"

Sssplithl flicked its long tongue at him. A smaller secondary tongue extended from it and brushed gently across Darwick's cheek, leaving behind a faintly reeking trail of slime. Darwick felt a bit queasy. _I have a strict policy against romantic entanglements with my staff,_ Sssplithl said. _Now that you are no longer in my employ, would you like to join me for supper? My cook has procured some very fine lamb, and I will ask her to be sure to serve your portion dead and thoroughly heated._

The notion of a romantic supper date with Sssplithl was appalling. The thought of those hooked claws striping his skin or the unearthly tongue caressing his lips was grotesque. Darwick's instinct was to refuse and flee, or possibly refuse while fleeing.

On the other hand, the offer of lamb turned his nausea to hunger. Sitting down to a proper supper would be like not being poor again, just for an hour. Darwick would pay very dearly for that. And was it really so different from a frolic with the landlady? Rumor around the shop was that Sssplithl was vastly wealthy, so maybe he could get more than a meal out of it. If Darwick was going to sell his body regardless, it might as well be to the highest bidder.

 _I know what is in your mind_ , Sssplithl said, _and it does not dissuade me. Among my people, as among yours, marital transactions are primarily pragmatic and financial, though they are enhanced by emotional compatibility. You and I are much alike: cast out by those we relied upon, forced to rely upon ourselves. I believe we may find more common ground than you know._

Darwick had not previously paused to wonder why a creature like Sssplithl owned a London coffee shop. His curiosity was awakened—along with his hunger.

For lamb, he thought hastily.

Something like a laugh sounded in his head. _We will see_ , Sssplithl said. _I will expect you at seven o'clock. Please bathe, and if you have better clothes, do wear them._ It winked two of its eyes and flicked its tongue again, lightly spattering Darwick with slime. _I promise to satisfy all your curiosity._

There was sly emphasis on the word _all_. Darwick tried not to think about it.

"Seven o'clock," he repeated. "Righto." And then, because it seemed required, "Thank you, sir."

As soon as he left the room, he frantically scrubbed his sleeve over his face to get the slime off. The smell, unfortunately, remained. Higgs leered at him. Darwick didn't want to know what Higgs thought had transpired in the office.

He went home to bathe and find his least frayed shirt, shaking his head over this strange turn of events. His mother, who'd been a chambermaid her whole life and died young and bitter, had always hoped he would marry someone with a fortune. This probably wasn't how she'd planned for him to go about it.

It could be worse, though. Given a choice between polishing Sssplithl's knob (or... whatever it was) and polishing that damned counter one more time, he'd readily take the former. It might smell worse, but it would probably be over faster, and there would be no Higgs there to laugh at him and call him "skinny boy" when he was done.

Why, imagine if he became Sssplithl's husband—that would make him part owner of the shop, wouldn't it? And then Higgs would have to answer to him. He could even let Higgs go and hire someone who made better pastries and looked nicer doing it. Sssplithl might shy away from swiving the employees, but the duke had taught him that swiving was what employees were for. That was where Darwick had come from, after all.

He'd be back to living in a warm house, with fine clothes. People would doff their hats and call him "sir." And he'd never, ever go hungry again.

Darwick smiled, turned up his coat collar, and quickened his pace. He didn't want to be late for supper.

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept this small gift in humble thanks for the treatless spreadsheet, your luminous presence in Yulechat, and generally being awesome.
> 
> Hat-tip to my anonymous beta, who was totally right about it needing more slime.


End file.
